


Makin' My Way Down- Holy Shit Is That A Knife?

by Long_Time_QT



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Car Trouble, Gen, Happy Ending, Hero Derek, Minor Injuries, Mugging, One Shot, Stiles Stilinski in Trouble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:02:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4117959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Long_Time_QT/pseuds/Long_Time_QT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' jeep breaks down late at night and Stiles thinks it can't get any worse until he feels a knife pressing against his throat.</p><p>Cue Derek to the rescue!</p><p>EDIT: I forgot I posted this to tumblr. Changed the title from 'Homeward Bound'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Makin' My Way Down- Holy Shit Is That A Knife?

**Author's Note:**

> So I found this in my old files and thought I'd post. Forgot I'd written this to be honest, but I hope you all like it as much as I liked finding it!

Stiles cursed all the stars in the vast infinity of the universe as he walked down the dark, desolate street with his hands in his pockets and eyes glaring at the too slowly passing pavement beneath his feet. Of _course_ his jeep would give out halfway home, and of _course_ it would happen before he could replace his phone. If he lost one more due to another supernatural showdown—

He sighed. He wouldn’t be so upset about his jeep if Scott had been with him. He’d have someone to talk to at least, or more likely annoy with his complaints about shoddy workmanship or why the walk home was _so freaking long_. He could have just gone with Stiles to Derek’s house but _noooo._ He had to take that rust bucket posing as a motorcycle because things were finally getting back to normal and it was just oh-so liberating.

Stiles sighed. That was a cheap shot and he knew it, but he’d just spent the past half hour walking through city streets and— there was something sharp pressing down against his throat as something wrapped across his chest and pinned his arms down. _Oh god_.

“Just give me your wallet and your phone, and no one has to get hurt.”

The relief that swelled through Stiles was as much a joy as it was disturbing. It was just a mugger, some random dude with a scratchy voice and poorly aligned morals hanging around in the dark for some poor sap like Stiles to walk by. It was remarkably normal. Panic took hold again.

“Look, I don-“

The knife pressed down harder against his skin and he had to clench his jaw to keep from crying out against the bite of the metal.

“Save it. Just empty your pockets and I’ll be on my way.”

Stiles’ fingers drummed against his jeans over his wallet. He could give it up. Make things quick and easy and _safe_. Well, safe in assuming the guy wouldn’t just kill Stiles anyway. There was just one problem with just giving in. He really, really, _really_ didn’t want to. Call it stupidity or stubbornness, but he wasn’t about to be inconvenienced without at least _trying_ to weasel his way out. He licked his lips and smirked.

“You really don’t want to do this,” his voice was strained and breathing was difficult, but come on. He dealt with freaking _werewolves_ on a daily basis. This sort of thing was depressingly normal.

“Shut up and give me what I want.”

Stiles swallowed nervously, “I know people. Dangerous people.”

“Punk-ass kid like you?" the mugger sniggered, "Doubt it.”

“No, but I do,” Stiles sighed, licking his lips again, “For one, my Dad is the sheriff.” He could almost feel the eye roll and he hastened to his next point, “But given a man of your standing and charm, I doubt you care who my daddy is.”

“F—“

“So I’ll give you another name,” Stiles hurried before pausing dramatically, “Derek Hale.”

The scoffing and the tightening of his grip that followed made Stiles suspect the mugger was far from impressed. Why would he be? Derek was acquitted of any legal issues and his more supernatural exploits weren’t exactly ‘common knowledge’. The mugger leaned in menacingly closer to Stiles, his hot breath ghosting across skin and Stiles had to suppress the urge to violently pull away.

“Shut up or I swear I’ll slit your throat and empty your pockets myself.”

The wet, too sharp pressure on Stiles’ neck was very convincing, but the low noise from behind was slightly more so. Stiles grinned as relief coursed through his adrenaline-fuelled body.

“You really shouldn’t have said that.”

The man jostled Stiles suddenly and aggressively, “I said shut the—“

In a flash of movement, the pressure on Stiles’ throat disappeared and he took the opportunity to twist out of the man’s grasp. He collapsed onto the concrete, rolling over before looking back at his attacker.

The sight that greeted him was one of true beauty. The mugger, rat-faced and wide-eyed, stared in abject horror between his victim and the wolfish man with a monstrous rage burning from bright red eyes gripping his arm in one clawed hand. The mugger screamed and Derek’s grip tightened.

“Shut up and get this through your head,” he spoke lowly, earning the mugger’s full attention, “You try this again, on _anyone_ , and I swear something worse than jail is going to happen to you, understand?”

At this point tears ran down the mugger’s face as though they’d been magically transfigured into faucets, both ever flowing and uncomfortable to look at.

“P-Please,” he begged, “Let me go.”

His knife fell to the ground, but Stiles barely noticed. He was more concerned with the vice like grip Derek had on the man’s arm. He could swear he heard bones creaking.

“Derek?” Stiles ventured, carefully standing up, “Derek, let him go.” Murderous blue eyes found calm hazel, and for a long moment Stiles was sure the intent in those eyes would come to fruition.

“Derek, he’s learned his lesson.”

With a low growl, Derek threw the man’s arm forward with a force that nearly sent the mugger to the ground. Once he was free, the nameless foe bolted down the alley from whence he came, running like his life depended on it. Which now that Stiles thought about, was probably true.

“Dude,” Stiles turned back to Derek as a rush of gratitude hit him hard, “You totally saved my bacon back there. Thanks.”

Derek looked mostly human now, though murder lingered in his eyes and the set of his brow. He advanced on Stiles and some small part of him, the part that was screaming fight or flight at him through the whole ordeal, feared the approach of Derek’s threatening presence.

“Uh, Derek? What—“

A strong hand clasped around his wrist and pulled his arm gently away from his neck. He hadn’t realized he’d been touching it. Derek’s nostrils flared.

“Dammit, Stiles.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Stiles met Derek’s stern gaze.

“Between you and Scott, I don’t know who attracts the most trouble.” He thrust Stiles’ hand in front of his eyes, bright red shocking the ever-loving crap out of him.

“ _Holy SHIT!”_ Stiles all but screamed, “That sonova— how bad is it? I’m not, y’know, gonna die or anything, right?” His hysterics seemed to break Derek of whatever weird possessive Alpha mood he’d been in. He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“It’s just a scratch, Stiles. Clean it up and you’ll be fine.”

Stiles would have come back with one of his trademark witty comments that he knew were hilarious even if no one else did but he hesitated. Derek’s tone and body language suggested annoyance, but there was something else clouding his expression. Stiles grew suspicious.

“Why are you out here anyway?” If Derek was perturbed by the question, it didn’t show.

“It’s a free country. Last I checked you didn’t need a special pass to come into town.”

Stiles huffed in frustration and shook his head, “At this time of night? Right when I have a freaking knife to my throat?”

Derek rolled his eyes again.

“For your information I came out so I could get some essentials because some people use my things without replacing them. I drove by your jeep and figured you probably got yourself into some kind of mess.”

Stiles felt a grin spread stupidly across his face as he noticed Derek’s suspiciously blank expression.

“So you were worried about me?”

Derek responded with nothing but a blank expression and Stiles grin faded as genuine surprise flooded through him.

“Wait seriously?”

Derek simply raised his eyebrows. Not in a condescending way like he usually did, but in soft disbelief, “After everything, how could you not believe I was worried?”

Stiles shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. He was feeling more awkward by the minute, and it definitely wasn’t because the thought of Derek worrying about him made his face warm.

“Well, no. It’s just that… I mean I know we don’t have a typical friendship or anything, or packship, or whatever you call it. Yea, we’ve been through a lot, like, a shit ton of stuff. And okay, yes, we know things about each other only good friends or maybe family would, and… I don’t know where I’m going with this.”

“You lost me at ‘packship’,” Derek admitted. Stiles nodded and let his hand drop to his side.

“I guess what I mean is, thanks for having my back. And finding me through random and highly coincidental means.”

“Right,” Derek smirked, “Because it’s not like I could track you from your jeep by scent or anything.”

“You know,” Stiles’ hands shot to his hips in mild annoyance, “I can’t tell which Derek is more frustrating. Sourwolf, sassywolf. Either way, they’re both kind of a little bit endearing and unintentionally very creepy.”

“Do you want a ride home or not?” Derek gestured down the road to where his car was just visible around the corner and Stiles beamed.

“I’d love one.”


End file.
